The Inaugural Manning's PitPoetry CompetitionFirst Prize (Adults)Mark Totterdell
Mark's Poem Form Our field where the grasses grew high, won't you look, has grown a hard harvest of tarmac and brick, a new human haven that went up too quick on the sweet tangled wildness where, going way back, we found the small hare in the warmth of its form, a shivering thing we'd have hated to harm that, with young green concern, we proceeded to damn when we scooped it from safety and carried it home. |